


The Start of a Journey

by Writing_Doodle



Series: Not So Dangerous Days [1]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: (also nothing too major and v brief), (nothing too major just tagging to be safe), Gen, Ghoul is Introspective and Sad/Bitter, Jet is a Concerned Friend, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self Loathing, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:30:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6465001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writing_Doodle/pseuds/Writing_Doodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i><b>Self Acceptance:</b> self-acceptance is an individual's satisfaction or happiness with oneself, and is thought to be necessary for good mental health.</i> </p><p>Fun Ghoul is <i>self aware</i>, but at least he recognizes that he needs to <i>accept</i> what he's <i>aware of</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Start of a Journey

**Author's Note:**

> so I’m in a creative writing class and one of the prompts was “a character on a journey” and my first thought was “journey of self discovery”. Then my second thought was “fun ghoul.” and my third thought was “it needs to be angstier then.” So it became “journey of self acceptance.“ 
> 
> I have a danger days headcanon side-blog called upthrust-the-volume @ tumblr where I'll eventually post my personal headcanons about fun ghoul (because he's my Fave) but this gives off the general vibe of how I interpret his character 
> 
> (also I'm so sorry to all of the people that are waiting for updates on everything else j wrote I..... am an awful person.)

Sometimes he walked. 

He'd walk as much as he could stand. Far enough that he could imagine he was running away, but close enough that he could walk back with no real issues. 

He couldn't run away. He knew he couldn't. But part of him wanted to. 

Part of him wanted to run away from his problems. His responsibilities. His _life_. 

He couldn't. 

It was still fun to imagine, sometimes. Fun wasn't the right word. He didn't know a better one. 

If he was being honest with himself, he didn't even know what he was wanting to run _from_. He had a decent life - as decent as a life could get in the fucked up world he was born in. He had. purpose to live for, a goal to reach. That was more than what some people had. He had a crew - a _family_ , he reminded himself - that protected him. That was more than what _most_ people had. 

He stared out at the vast expanse of desert before him. The joshua trees dotting the otherwise barren landscape. The tumbleweeds being pushed by the dry wind. The sun was distorted through the haze of radiation that still clung to the atmosphere. Dark purple and blue clouds were approaching. A voice in the back of his head told him that he needed to go back soon if he didn't want to be caught in the coming acid rain. 

Against that voice of reason, he wanted to push his luck. See when it would finally run out. He's been living on nothing but borrowed fortune that was sure to bite him in the ass for his entire life. So far it hasn't turned on him yet. Maybe it needed that extra push. It was only fair. 

He didn't really deserve his place in his crew. He just knew how to play the game. Manipulate people into only seeing your best qualities. Pretend that everything else doesn't exist. Agree with the right things. Laugh at a joke that wasn't funny. Fake a smile. Tell your backstory through a filter that would only garner sympathy. Sacrifice your pride to ensure survival. He knew how to play the game. He stared at the rapidly approaching rain clouds.

"How long will I have to stand under before I melt?" He mused, before cursing himself for even thinking something that stupid. He was _not_ going to waste all he's done, all he's been through, just because he felt a little bit guilty. Felt a little bit fake. 

(A little bit was an understatement.) 

He took ten more steps forward until he decided that he was tempting fate too much. He turned around and walked back to the abandoned diner his crew decided to make a home out of. He stared at the door in front of him. Dark clouds turned angrily above his head. 

The same thought snuck up on him, this time phrased in a way that made him pause. Consider. (He should really step inside.)

 _'How long will it take for all this armor I built up to melt away.'_

Same results, different question. He decided to push his luck even more. He saw a few raindrops fall near him, steaming as they hit the ground. He felt a drop land on his shoulder, felt it eat away at the fabric of his shirt. He heard a hiss and smelt burning hair. A few drops hit his arms. Those spots burned like someone put a cigarette out on them. He only stopped when he felt a drop land on his cheek, too close to his eye for comfort. 

When the door closed behind him and he was safely under a roof, he could hear his heart pounding. 

"Hey," Jet greeted pleasantly from his spot at the diner's only remaining booth. Machine parts were scattered on the table, oil stained his fingers. He glanced out the window, barely protected by multiple plastic tarps. "Some storm, huh?" 

"Yeah." Ghoul could see the smoke still rising off of his clothes and skin. He knew that Jet was too polite to point it out. From the concerned looks, Ghoul figured that Jet saw him standing out there. He wasn't sure what Jet thought about that. 

He wasn't sure what _he_ thought about that. 

He knew it was probably inevitable. He knew he was self destructive. Impulsive. Evasive. Manipulative. Selfish.

Ghoul was very self aware. That was an easy thing to accomplish. Looking at yourself and saying, _'This is me. This is what I am.'_

What wasn't easy is coming to terms with it. Being at peace with it. He didn't like what he saw. He didn't like who he was. 

He slid into the booth opposite of Jet's. Party and Kobra were on a mission somewhere. He looked out the window, at the storm that was burning holes in the ground. He wondered if they were okay out there. Eventually the sound of tinkering stopped. Ghoul automatically looked at Jet to see if something was wrong. 

Jet was looking at him. Examining him. Picking him apart. Eventually he asked, "Are you okay?" 

Ghoul knew he knew he wasn't, but the question was comforting, in a way. He let it hang in the air for a bit. 

"No." He eventually answered, surprised at himself for actually being honest. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

"No." He said again, eyes moving back to stare out the window. Eventually the sound of tinkering began again and Ghoul felt something akin to relief. One of the plastic tarps was completely eaten through. He looked at his arm; angry red marks looked back at him and he grimaced slightly. 

The fact that he felt some amount of regret was probably a good sign. A step in the right direction. Being honest about his feelings was probably another good sign.

Baby steps in the journey of being at peace with who he was as a person. A journey he knew would be more painful than being stuck outside in the middle of an acid storm.

**Author's Note:**

> I seek validation..... pls let me knew if you liked this I haven't written anything in months and I'm very nervous about the quality


End file.
